Demise of a Department Store

I walk into the store and the scent of exotic perfume hits my nostrils. A well dressed woman asks if I would like to try some Obsession by Calvin Klein. I hold out my wrist and she sprays a little of the heady perfume on it. I rub my wrists together and then rub behind my ears. I hold my wrist up to my nose and inhale. Teenage dream realized, I move into the cosmetics section. I gaze at the rainbow of pastel-coloured bottles of Clinique skincare, wishing I could afford some. The back-lit glass shelving is gleaming and row upon row of cosmetics I had only seen in magazines stares back at me. I carry on to the women's clothing. Stylish pieces of high quality clothing dress the mannequins on display. Several mannequins have been dressed and accessorized to represent a family at the beach. There's even sand on the platform they stand on, and a blown up beach ball is held by the little mannequin boy. I have saved up for months to shop for a few items. I won't be buying anything at this place. It's too fancy for the likes of me, but I am enjoying the fantasy afforded by looking and dreaming. I ascend the escalator and head to the housewares for some more window shopping. I stroke the fluffy towels and silky sheets. China and glassware gleam expensively. I recognize a dishware pattern from Architectural Digest, copies of which I have pored over at my friend Molly's house. Furniture is set up invitingly in bedroom, living room, and dining room sets. Everything in the store is carefully placed and is part of a story. The salespeople are friendly and helpful but not intrusive. They pay much more attention to the nicely dressed women who are shopping than to me, for obvious reasons. I am on a high school band trip, and the store is Hudson's Bay Company in downtown Vancouver. 

Fast forward thirty-five years. My husband and I drive to the mall in the nearby, larger city in our valley to shop for the brand of bras and underwear I like. The Bay is the only place I can buy my underwear without shopping online, which I try not to do. I try to support my local businesses as much as I can. I walk into the store. The scent of perfume still hits my nostrils but no one offers to spray my wrists. I don't really mind that, since I don't wear perfume anymore. The main floor of The Bay now has more of a warehouse vibe than a department store vibe. There don't seem to be any stories to the merchandise anymore. Even the areas focused on one brand like Levi's or Anne Klein seem to be less organized and cared for. We go upstairs on the one escalator that is not broken down. The walls of the store need painting, the paint on the trim is chipped and scuffed. Ten thousand dollar sofas are on offer, but they seem very out of place in this current store, incongruous with their fading surroundings. We both wonder aloud how long The Bay can survive without a major reinventing of itself, but instead of making a better store, they put a mini Zellers inside it, which somehow makes the whole place feel like a Zellers - an HBC-owned budget department store that suffered its own demise years before, but still represents some brand of Canadian nostalgia.

When the Bay went public with their financial troubles we were not surprised. Ownership had transferred to a US based private equity firm in 2008. At least one retail expert thought The Bay leaving Canadian ownership was a leading cause of their downfall. Another said if The Bay had become a seller of Canadian only brands, including Indigenous products (a nod towards Reconciliation), the company could have created something really special. Instead, the store carried on with its failing model, and its collapse was only a matter of time. The fact that HBC is shutting down most of their operations during this interesting time in Canada/US relations is not lost on me. 

The other day, after we heard the news that Hudson's Bay was going to be closing most of their stores in Canada, we decided to go back to our nearby store to see if we could get any more sheets for the impossibly deep mattress we had recently bought. We'd had success there before. Ironically, we were greeted this time by a friendly saleswoman in the cosmetics section, although she didn't offer to spray my wrists with perfume. The store was a mess. Stuff was just piled on tables all over the place. Other areas were completely empty. There were no sheets our size, but I did find my brand of undies fifteen percent off, so I bought a pack there for old times' sake. Luckily, our local Canadian-owned store Mark's carries my brand now. 

I wonder what the mall that has been home to The Bay since 1990 will do without their huge anchor store. Maybe like the mall in our city, they will get a Trevor Linden Club16 gym or a grocery chain to take over the space. It really is the end of an era for Canada. I get it, though. Times change and just because a store has been around for 355 years there is no guarantee it will live forever. Some Indigenous people are happy to see The Bay die out. The Bay represents a lot of negative memories of the British colonial determination to dominate their lands and use their people for economic gain. Higher end department stores also seem to be going the way of the dinosaur. They require too much real estate for their current model. Mega stores like Walmart and Superstore which include grocery sections seem to fare much better in Canada. Costco, which includes furniture and appliances in their extensive list of items for sale on the floor, is another winner here. 

I, for one, like a quality department store. I was a loyal patron of our local Sears store before they also ended their presence in Canada's cities. They had great sales and good products. My Kenmore vacuum is still going strong after twenty years. I have to shop around a lot more now. 

I am lucky to own an original, iconic HBC wool striped blanket, the kind created in 1690 for trade with Indigenous peoples for beaver pelts, but I picked it up years ago for three bucks at a thrift shop. The last remaining HBC locations will be six stores in Ontario and Quebec. Perhaps, if the company can be bought back by Canadian investors, it will have a chance to work on becoming the kind of store which modern Canadians will buy into once again. 

Dance Crazy

Last weekend, the 2010 film Black Swan was on TV. I had never seen it, but I knew it was a psychological thriller/horror film. I have never enjoyed horror as a genre, but I have always loved ballet, so decided to give it a try. The real world has plenty enough horrors for this sensitive gal, and up until quite recently in my life, I had trouble separating fiction from reality when it came to watching anything really frightening or gory on a screen. I can now say, "It's just a movie" (with varying levels of success). I lasted through an hour of Black Swan. (I did say 'varying'). I searched up the synopsis, found out there was a lot of dancing at the end, turned the channel to something else, and then tuned back into the film for the last fifteen minutes. You may say 'wimp'. I say 'self care'. That whole scene with the broken glass tipped the scales for me.

The incredibly competitive nature of ballet, the toll on the mind and body, the sometimes boundary-crossing nature of the student/teacher relationship, and the shortness of the career of a prima ballerina were all aspects of the professional world of dance covered in the film. The two stars, Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis said they had no idea how competitive ballet was, and how rigorous the life of a dancer, until they were making the film. Natalie had danced until the age of thirteen, and still had a fairy-tale dream of it all, while Mila had no experience. They both worked with professional teachers and lived on carrots and some kind of lean protein until they were down from their already svelte figures to those of  professional ballet dancers, a loss of twenty pounds each. They both also said the film changed them and their careers forever. Natalie Portman won her first Oscar for her role in Black Swan, and Mila Kunis was taken seriously as a multi-faceted actor from then on.

Black Swan is meant to highlight the perils of perfectionism, as Natalie Portman's character demands nothing less of herself and descends (further) into madness. I couldn't help but think of real-life dancers like Evelyn Hart, the great former prima ballerina of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. She battled anorexia nervosa throughout her career. She often reached perfection in her dancing, but at what cost I wonder. She also reportedly felt forced out of the RWB on account of her age. She is now teaching and encouraging young dancers. I hope she is a good mentor. 

My mom put me in ballet at age five or six for a year or two, then again at age ten until the fabulous new teacher who said I showed promise moved back to Winnipeg. I took it up again, along with jazz dance, at age sixteen and danced intensively for four years. If I had trained consistently, from age six, my skill would have been much higher, but I still enjoyed my time struggling and striving at the Question of Balance School of Dance. My teacher told us about how her career had been cut short after she was pressured to dance on an injured foot. She was determined not to ruin our bodies, too. We danced in a former schoolhouse with the old cloakroom acting as dressing room and a rural view of the river from the many windows of the main classroom. Our experience was a far cry from the set-in-New York City Black Swan. The other girls were kind and encouraging to me, and we had a lot of fun together. 

I used to lie in bed at night begging God to let me be a dancer. After four years I asked my dance teacher if she thought I had what it took to pursue a career in dance. She suggested a dance-adjacent career like arts journalism or administration. While discouraged, I auditioned for Simon Fraser University's dance program anyway. I remember the audition process being pretty standard if all the dance movies I had watched were anything to go on. I was fairly proud of myself for keeping up to the other dancers and giving it my best effort, even after overhearing a couple of boys backstage rating all of the girls' bodies - I was used to that, too, although it made me angry. I did not make it in to the main program. They sat a group of us down and said we should take a year of dance classes in the department, along with other general first year courses, and reapply the next year. I was crushed, and believed the writing was on the wall. I decided not to attend SFU and went to UBC instead to study English and Humanities with a view to becoming a teacher. All my life people had told me I would make a good teacher. Only my mother had really encouraged me to seek a life in the world of dance. If not for her I never would have tried.

I do think you have to be physically and mentally tough to embark on a career in dance. Black Swan is an extreme example of that world, but the competitiveness and the toll on the body are real. Young girls romanticize careers like ballet and modeling, but they can be brutal for women because they are such demanding and relentless ways of being. Something the current generations are good at is questioning and demanding answers for why the generations before them accepted certain attitudes. My generation grew up with hustle culture, 'no pain, no gain', diet culture, and body negativity, and I know the current generations are pushing back against these social norms. I hope that increasingly, dancers, models, and actors don't have to nearly kill themselves, or shove aside their ethics, for the sake of their craft.

 I still enjoy ripping it up on the dance floor. Once in a while, someone will come up to me and say, "I love watching you dance!" and that's such a good feeling. Some things we can do simply for the joy of it.  

'til next time, 

Rebecca